


Fight School

by Infie



Series: On The Road [7]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Friendship, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5556065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infie/pseuds/Infie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A passing visit to a gym provides insights for Oliver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fight School

The strange gym felt weirdly of home. 

Felicity shook her head ruefully as they walked through the door and she was assaulted by the familiar smells of humidity, concrete and sweat. Oliver glanced down at her, attuned to her as always. If anything, it was getting stronger every day they spent together. 

“What is it?” 

“Reminds me of the Foundry,” she told him. He nodded his understanding and headed to the counter, arranging for a day pass for both of them. When he came back he gave her a one-armed hug before heading to the mats where they both started stretching. 

“Do you miss it?” He rolled his shoulders and swung his arms over his head, enjoying the burn of stretching muscle. He liked being on the road; absolutely _loved_ being on the road with Felicity, but he was not getting the workouts he was used to. 

His eyes were drawn to Felicity, sprawled on the floor and only a little awkwardly stretching her hip by pressing her knee to her opposite side. It reminded him of the workouts he _was_ getting and he grinned at her. He knew he had to look like a lovesick idiot, but the blinding smile he got back meant he didn’t care at all. 

“Our gym doesn’t have one of those,” she tilted his head at the octagonal fighting ring taking up most of the south east corner. “Maybe we should get one.” 

“We have mats already.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you afraid I’ll try to get away?” 

“Ha! With the cage at least there’d be less chance of one of your sticks going awry.” She spread her feet to touch her toes and he made an appreciative little hum at her flexibility. “Or, you know, one of your sparring partners.” 

He pointed a finger at her. “That only happened once.” 

She sniffed dismissively and he was smiling again. “Once is all it takes.” She rose to her feet and did some turns to stretch out her back and sides. He bent over and touched his forehead to his knees, wincing at the pull in his hamstrings. He really needed to be doing this more. Sex might be the most enjoyable workout he could think of, but it didn’t stretch the backs of his legs. Maybe he could switch it up to get some burn happening there.... Felicity interrupted the (intensely interesting) direction of his thoughts. 

“Ok,” she said, rocking a little on her toes and tilting her head towards the octagon. “Let’s give it a workout.” 

He blinked, now completely derailed by the mental image of the two of them in the positions he’d been considering, superimposed within the octagon. “What?” 

“The ring.” She strode over to it, ponytail bouncing behind her. 

He followed, frowning. He knew she didn’t mean what had been running through his head, but he was at a complete loss as to what she _could_ be talking about. “You want to try the ring.” 

“I want you to spar with me,” she stated simply, opening the cage door and stepping inside. “Work on my self defence.” 

She wanted him to _train_ her? Oliver swore that his heart froze in his chest. He stopped dead at the entrance to the ring, shaking his head adamantly. “No.” 

Felicity’s eyes widened and then started to crinkle with amusement. “No?” 

“No.” He crossed his arms and lifted his chin. Train Felicity? For the field? He would die first. From the feeling in his chest, possibly _right now_. “Absolutely not.” 

She tilted her head at him, clearly torn between astonishment and hilarity. “Absolutely not?” 

“Is there an echo in here? No. I’m not going to train you, Felicity. Even the idea of you in the field…” He saw the expression on her face, knew that he was digging himself deeper with every word, but he couldn’t seem to _stop_. He felt as though his head was going to explode, just thinking about what could happen to her. “You can’t expect me to let you do that.” 

She held up her hand, real anger joining the other emotions on her face. “Ok, stop before you have a stroke.” She choked faintly and walked in a tiny jerky circle, staring up at the sky as if praying for guidance. “Or I do.” Oliver watched her in absolute fascination. She waved her hands and then came to a stop, facing him firmly. “Ok. There were _so_ many things wrong with what you were saying, that I barely know where to start.” 

Oliver opened his mouth. 

“But! I figured it out.” She glared at him and he shut it again with a snap. She took a quick glance around and whispered at him fiercely. “First of all, let me? _Let me_? You don’t get to _let me_ do anything. I decide if I want to train, or go out in the field, or learn to be a badass ninja warrior. You do not get to decide those things.” Oliver took a breath but she continued before he could say anything. “Secondly! Secondly, learning self defence, and practicing against different opponents, is just good thinking, especially given what we’ve seen.” 

Oliver was starting to feel like he’d probably misjudged the situation, a feeling that got a lot stronger when Felicity spread her hands and continued, this time on the verge of laughter. “Finally, _why_ , in the name of all that exists, would you think that I would _want_ to train for the field? ME? I don’t like exercise, or fighting, or… or blood. I like my computers. Not least because they don’t try and tell me whether they’ll _let me_ do something.” 

He uncrossed his arms and took a huge step to reach her, pulling her into a firm kiss. After a long moment that had his stomach knotting again, she melted against him, the irritated tension leaving her body as she lifted her arms and hugged him back. He deepened the kiss in relief, putting into it everything he knew he wasn’t going to be able to say. 

“Wow,” she murmured against his mouth when he let her up for air. “You give the best apologies. But I dunno, you really said three annoying things…” 

He kissed her again, then gently set her away from him. 

“Hey! That was only two ‘apologies’!” She tugged on his shirt and he laughed. 

“I’m saving the final one for when we’re alone,” he said. “In the meantime, maybe I could back up a bit and replay part of the last few minutes?” 

She cocked her hip and arched an eyebrow. 

“Felicity,” he said with a grin. She really was pure sunshine; he was the luckiest goddamned man in the world. “When you say ‘spar’, what did you have in mind?” 

Pure mischief filled her eyes and she turned mostly away from him. “I’d rather just show you.” She glanced at him over her shoulder, her ponytail glinting in the light and a sexy tilt to her shoulders. “Come at me.” 

Heat raced through him at the picture she made and he groaned. She was planning on making him pay, that was clear. 

On the other hand, he’d be paying by putting his hands all over her, and that was never a bad thing, no matter how painful the teasing could be. 

Obligingly he crossed to her, grabbing her over the shoulder and curling over her. She pushed her butt back, wriggling deliciously against his pelvis and almost making his eyes cross, and then she wrapped both hands around his wrist and twisted, succeeding only in pulling him further around her. “Oliver,” she muttered in his ear, “this is where you’re supposed to be thrown over my shoulder.” 

“Ah. Right.” He jumped, managing to roll over her shoulder and fall to the mat dramatically. Immediately she dropped onto his chest with all the power of dandelion fluff, pinning his arms over his head and looking down at him from inches away. Her breasts were brushing his chin. “Very, uh, effective,” he told her earnestly, dragging his gaze from her cleavage with an effort. Her eyes were dancing with laughter. “I am at your mercy.” 

She kissed his forehead, pressing the softness of her breasts against his mouth and making him groan. “I would like to point out that _if_ I wanted to become a badass ninja warrior, I could. I just don’t have five years and an ASIS commando handy. Though, I do have access to the League of Assassins.” She nipped the tip of his nose this time. “I’ll bet your ex-wife would be thrilled to teach me…” 

Ok, she was having way too much fun with this. He pulled out of her grasp, braced his hands under her knees and toppled her to the side, reversing their positions as she laughed in delight. “I have absolutely no doubt,” he kissed her lips, swallowing her snicker. “That you could do absolutely anything that you wanted to.” 

She cupped his cheek in her hand. “Now that is more like it,” she whispered. 

“Oh, sweetheart, if that’s how you do it, I’ll spar with you anytime!” 

Oliver grimaced and rolled to his feet, glaring at the man who’d catcalled. Felicity just laughed and got up too, moving into Oliver’s side and hugging his waist tightly. “Thank you for the offer,” she said politely, “but I’ve picked my partner already. I’m sticking with this one.” 

“Please. Pretty boy, there? I could kick his ass, no problem.” The guy came up to the cage. He was about an inch taller than his own six-two, Oliver guessed, and was clearly a serious fitness nut. He was ripped, all lean muscle. Thick black tattoos snaked down his arms from under his tight grey T-shirt. A wide gap in his left eyebrow and a plumped ear marked him as a fighter. 

“What do you think, honey?” Felicity patted his stomach and looked up at him with a grin. “Want to trade me in for a different sparring partner? I saw you thinking it earlier, that you were feeling rusty.” 

“I wouldn’t trade you for anything.” He raked his eyes over the guy again. He was eyeing him challengingly. It could be good to have a little sparring session, shake out some of the cobwebs. Oliver lifted his chin at the guy. “What are the gym rules?” 

People started coming from all corners of the gym, some curious, some grinning with anticipation. 

“No gouging, no spiking, no nuts,” the guy said, opening the door and springing into the cage with the elasticity of a lot of flexibility training. “Head protection mandatory; necessary for our insurance.” He pulled his shirt over his head, displaying an impressive set of abs and that his tattoos snaked around both sides of his ribcage to form a complicated knot over his sternum. 

One of their growing audience tossed two helmets over the top of the ring. The guy caught them both easily and handed Oliver one. “This is your place?” Oliver asked. 

The guy half-shrugged, half-nodded, tugging the helmet on over his head and gesturing. “It’s where I train,” he said, lifting his hand to catch the sets of gloves that sailed over the top of the ring next. “That makes it as much my place as any.” 

Felicity took the gloves from him and pulled Oliver to the side, helping him slide them on. They were a decent fit and would at least help keep his knuckles from splitting. She wrapped the wrist tight and took the helmet, slipping it over his head and knocking it into place with a little bop on the top of his head. 

“Don’t finish it too fast,” she whispered at him. 

He lifted an eyebrow in astonishment. “I kind of expected you to be more concerned,” he muttered. She gave him a direct look and he shrugged assent. “Yeah, ok,” he conceded then asked, “why am I making it last?” 

“Well, if I’m going to have to watch you having fun, at least you can help me make some money off it.” She grinned at him happily and bounced over to the cage door. Oliver shook his head and smiled to himself. 

The guy watched her go, appreciative eyes on her ass. Oliver felt his smile turn to a glare and smacked his gloved hands against the other man’s to get his attention. 

“Mike Chavez,” the man told him, completely unrepentant. 

“Jonas Smoak,” Oliver replied, still irritated. Felicity beamed at him from behind the cage. 

A huge man with long braids and massive arms decorated lavishly with tattoos entered the ring. “Name’s Abe,” he said and offered his hand to be shaken, before rocking back on his heels. “This is a training session,” he boomed out. “Session is over with first blood.” 

Oliver lifted a mocking eyebrow at Chavez, who shook his head at the self-appointed referee. 

“Ok,” the referee amended. “Apparently, these guys like the idea of blood. So, session is over with knock out or tap out, or if I decide to end it because Jonas here is crying like a baby.” 

The crowd jeered in a friendly kind of way, and Oliver retreated to his side of the cage. “Hey,” Felicity said through the wire. “Does calling yourself Smoak mean you’re suddenly feeling all brotherly?” 

He shot her a look that expressed what he thought of that idea, that promised everything he wanted to do to her. The heated expression on her face in return had him barely remembering that he was supposed to be… sparring. A quick glance at Chavez showed him loosening up with the quick vibrant speed of a trained fighter. 

Felicity blew him a kiss and then turned to the crowd. “Ok!” she said loudly, “Who wants to place a bet?” There was a new clamour as the crowd pressed close to her and she started taking bets with a grin. Oliver saw that there were more people pouring into the gym from the side entrance, likely from the bar next door. 

Abe waved them both over. “Fight clean, all right? Keep a watch for the tap out; these guys are gonna get loud and you might not hear it.” 

“I’m not going to be tapping out,” Chavez declared, baring his teeth. 

“I just want to make it clear, before we start anything here, that this fight was entirely your idea.” Oliver leaned in and made sure he said it clearly, so Abe heard it too. “I’d appreciate it if you said that out loud now, before you start crying setup after I kick your ass.” 

“Oh, this fight was my idea,” Chavez said loudly enough to be heard by at least the first layer of spectators. “Soon as I saw you two I wanted to punch you in the face and slap her in the ass.” 

Even the referee blinked at that one. “Your idea, yeah, got it. Jesus, Mike, don’t be an asshole.” He turned to Oliver. “Sorry, man, he’s a real dickhead when his girl’s out of town.” 

“Yeah,” Oliver nodded, “Appreciate that, but I think I’ll be taking my apology from him.” 

Abe shrugged and Chavez sneered. “Fair enough.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw Felicity bent over her tablet. A second later, about eight people in the audience all swore and started to shake their phones as one. He grinned. Apparently, there wouldn’t be any video of this fight. Felicity lifted her own phone. 

Except, apparently, theirs. 

Abe checked over his shoulder, and got a nod from someone ringside who was seemingly going to be managing the clock. 

“Ready?” The referee checked with Chavez first, then Oliver. He lifted his hand over their heads and then chopped it between them. “Fight!” 

Both of them took a half-step back, eyeing each other closely. The look on Chavez’s face was intent, maybe even a little manic. He didn’t look like he was ready to spar. He looked like he was ready to hurt someone. 

Well. Oliver was up for letting him try. 

He shifted his feet and squared his shoulders. Chavez took it as the invitation it was and attacked with a throttled yell, going for his ribs with a flurry of blows. Oliver twisted to the side, absorbing most of the impact, and kicked Chavez’ right ankle out from under him. Chavez fell sideways and Oliver followed up with a feinted kick at his side that had him scrambling back to his feet. He came at Oliver again, this time with a group of punches that were clearly a training pattern. Oliver slapped them aside with ease. There were catcalls and shouts of encouragement from the crowd, none of them for him. He wasn’t surprised; this was Chavez’s home gym, and Felicity wouldn’t want to distract him by being vocal. 

He knew she was there, though. He could feel her. 

Chavez wasn’t bad, he noted absently. He’d had lots of training, and if pressed Oliver would probably put him at about the skill level of Diggle, without the emotional control that made Digg such a dangerous opponent. 

Unexpectedly, Chavez whirled, lashing out with a back fist that caught Oliver at the temple, one knuckle sliding along the edge of the helmet and splitting the skin over his eyebrow. He felt a hot line of blood trickle around the corner of his eye and smiled. The crowd cheered, someone whistling in appreciation. Oliver just set his feet and waited. 

Chavez glared at him, irritated further by his lack of reaction. 

Oliver kicked him in the gut, driving him all the way across the ring and bouncing him off the mesh like a rag doll. He swooped low when Chavez rebounded and came at him, sweeping his legs and standing to give him a solid shove between the shoulders as he stumbled. Chavez tumbled to the mat, flat on his stomach. 

He stepped back to let the other man up, and the timekeeper rang the bell for the first ‘round’. Oliver moved over to his side of the ring as Chavez was pushed bodily to his, snarling. 

At the sound of the bell, the door to the ring opened and Felicity raced inside, giving his face and neck a brisk towelling and holding a water bottle for him to get a drink. “Looks like you’re having fun,” she said wryly. He looked up as he considered, then nodded with a sheepish grin. 

“You ok?” He lifted a hand to her cheek. She felt warm and sweaty against his fingertips. 

“I’m fine. The crowd is loud, though, and pretty partisan.” She used a corner of the towel to wipe her own face before blotting away the trickle of blood he could feel around the curve of his eye. 

“Are they harassing you? Do you need me to stop?” 

“No.” She smiled at him, wide and a little evil. “I need you to take off your shirt.” 

He blinked, but obediently dropped his hands to the hem of his t-shirt, stripping it off over his head with a single effortless movement. He handed her the shirt and stretched his shoulders. 

Immediately the jeers and catcalls stopped, and a low murmur of awe filled the otherwise suddenly silent gym. Felicity kissed his shoulder and then flat out strutted to the cage door, slinging his t-shirt over her shoulder. “I’ll give you this back when you’re done,” she singsonged. 

“Oh, honey, I’d never let him wear anything.” The woman who’d given him their day passes said loudly. “ _Damn_.” 

Abe and Chavez were eyeing his scars instead, reading the history of his battles on his skin. He strode back to the centre of the ring. 

“Fuck, man,” Abe breathed, staring at his flank. “Are those from _teeth_?” 

Oliver glanced at him. “Does it matter?” 

Chavez lifted his fists. “Not to me.” 

Abe shook his head. “Dude,” he muttered, “I’ll bet you have stories.” He stepped back, looked at the timekeeper, got the nod. “Fight!” 

This time there was no tentative exploration. Chavez exploded at him in a flurry of punches, driving him back against the chain mesh. Oliver kept his hands up and deflected them all, stepping back only grudgingly. He felt the brush of metal against his shoulder blade and immediately dropped into a forward roll, springing back to his feet behind Chavez and kicking him in the back of the knee. Chavez collapsed against the mesh and Oliver thought through four different ways of taking him the rest of the way out before stepping back to let him regain his feet. Chavez spun on his heel and sneered at him, then turned his head and muttered something to Felicity behind the screen. Oliver couldn’t hear what he said but he saw the stricken look flash across her face before she squared her shoulders and shot Chavez a glare that said he was about to find himself in a lot of credit problems. 

Well, first, Chavez was going to be dealing with a whole lot of issues that had nothing to do with credit, and everything to do with the fact that Oliver was about to provide a little… instruction. In proper fighting techniques, as defined by Slade Wilson. An object lesson seemed in order. 

Oliver bared his teeth in a feral grin and waggled his fingers. Chavez lunged forward, going for the grapple, and Oliver let him close just enough to step fully into the punch he drove into the other man’s lower ribcage. Chavez’s breath exploded from him and he staggered, and Oliver followed up with a series of punishing rabbit punches to his back that would have him pissing red for a week. Then he kicked the back of his knee again, dropping him onto his stomach. 

He considered continuing, reached down and grabbed Chavez’s head by the hair and yanked it back painfully. He found himself running through his options with clinical detachment, but a quick glance at the crowd and Felicity’s face brought him back from that brink. She was smiling at him, unafraid and proud. 

He let go of Chavez’s head and slipped his arm around his throat instead, squeezing gently and counting down in his head. At six seconds, Chavez went limp under him, right on time. He let go and stood up. 

“Apology accepted,” he muttered. 

Abe dropped to his knees beside his buddy, checking for a pulse. 

“He’s fine,” Oliver told him. “I just put him to sleep for a minute.” He shrugged. “He said he wouldn’t tap out, didn’t want to embarrass him.” 

Abe eyed him cautiously. “Yeah, I can see how you were worried about that, what with the taking him completely apart in about five whole seconds.” He must have found the pulse though, because he heaved himself back to his feet and lifted Oliver’s arm over his head. “Winner, Smoak!” He boomed. 

Felicity tore open the cage door and leaped into his arms, kissing him fiercely. “Yeah, we are,” she murmured so only he could hear. “We just made six hundred bucks.” 

He laughed and hugged her close before grabbing his shirt from her shoulder and pulling it on. “I tried to make it last,” he replied in an equally low voice. 

“But then… what did he say to you?” 

A shadow flitted through her eyes. “Nothing I’ll repeat,” she told him firmly. Abe overheard and came over to shake Oliver’s hand. The crowd around the ring was dispersing, some looking a bit disappointed. 

“Mike’s not usually this big an asshole,” he said as the man himself started to come around, lifting his head and shaking it groggily. “He just found out his girl’s been stepping out on him. She’s a cute little blonde thing, looks a little like you.” 

Felicity’s eyes narrowed at Abe and to Oliver’s amusement he took a wary step back. “Maybe he’d have had better luck if he tried to work towards making her happy instead of making her his bitch,” she bit out, and Oliver winced, getting a better idea of the nature of what Chavez had said. “Not calling women ‘girls’ or ‘things’ might be a place to start.” 

Abe shot Oliver a pleading look. Oliver held up his hands. “What can I say?” He shrugged. “She’s absolutely right.” 

Felicity lifted a finger and shook it under Abe’s nose. On the ground, Chavez had finally put together enough strength to lift his head. Almost immediately, he collapsed back, now holding his ribs and groaning. 

The sparring had been an excellent reminder, both of what he’d loved and what he’d hated about being the Arrow. The physical release of his anger was a relief, the burn and play of muscle and that crisp clarity of mind more than a little addicting. But on the other side of the line lay the cold, calculating predator, the killer who lived to cause pain, who gloried in it. He hated that part of himself, and this was a reminder of both why that was and why he’d left it all behind so easily. 

And these days, there were better physical releases to be had, better ways to explore his creativity. Better ways to challenge his mind. The answer to all of those things stood smiling up at him as she pulled off his gloves. He pushed off the helmet as well and handed it to Abe, but his eyes never left Felicity. “Ready to go?” 

“I didn’t get my workout,” she pretended to pout as she slid her arm around his waist and they walked together out of the ring and towards the door of the gym. 

Oliver pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her temple. “When we get back to the hotel, I’ll show you some moves,” he whispered in her ear. “Some grapples, some holds.” 

“Sounds instructive,” she replied. 

“Oh,” he said, holding the door for her to saunter through. “It will be.”


End file.
